Comatose
by The-dead-make-no-sound
Summary: With Death hot on his heels, Pietro battles to win the race against time and prove that death really can be walked off. It is Eleanor Holstein's job to support Pietro on the road to recovery, despite all those who have lost hope. All Pietro needs to do, is wake up. (First chapter errors fixed)
1. The foreigner

**Comatose**

 **(a/n) Eleanor's accent is written as she would say it (w's as v's, ect.) I hope it isn't too confusing, if it is, let me know and I'll change it. Also, this chapte has been edited as I accidently uploaded the draft version.**

The frantic beat of her own heart filled her ears as she raced through the 87th floor of the Avenger's Tower. She danced around others that occupied the hospital wing with fluid clumsiness. Eleanor Holstein moved as if the flow of a violin controlled her, allowing each step she took to fall upon the earth lightly and precisely - often her toes to minimalise the sound her feet made as they landed. She was a ballerina stepping to her own tune as she wove through the crowded wing - but even ballerinas tripped and fell.

She called an apology over her shoulder to the oblivious humming nurse she had brushed paths with and moved through the door of room 24B. The clock upon the wall read 6:09 as an assistant slipped a white coat over her arms and she wiggled into its embrace. Being nine minutes late wouldn't hurt anyone, or so she hoped.

Nurses and other medical practitioners scurried around her like ants. Her late arrival meant a late departure for them, and she still had to be briefed. Eleanor fell into a state of composure as she was handed a clip board heavy with papers.

Her blue eyes flicked over the printed letters, taking in the details of her newest patient.

"Peetro? Am I saying it right? Peetro Maximoff?" She asked the amber eyed, olive skinned girl at her side - a fellow doctor.

"No, Dr. Holstein, Pee-eh-tro," she said slowly, putting emphasis on each syllable of the boys name as she took the clipboard from her hands and scanned the writing herself.

Eleanor repeated it aloud, allowing it to roll of her tongue, her accent warping the sound.

"Unt he was shot seven times clean through? Unt vas dead for how long?" Eleanor questioned, her voice lost as she held a hair elastic between her teeth, pulling her long blonde hair into a ponytail.

The doctor at her side tucked a loose end of her moss green Hijab back into place as she spoke. "Two hours. It was a miracle that Mr Banner and Dr Chow were able to find a way to revive him, but the repercussions have been severe -"

"Yas, a three month coma is severe. Has he shown any signs of vaking up? Unt have tests for brain damage been performed? Ze brain should not be able to survive for zat long without an oxygen supply," she said as the two walked towards the far side of the room, approaching a curtain from behind which the beep of a heart monitor emanated. The steady rhythm gave the reassurance of a healthy heartbeat.

The curtain was drawn back. Eleanor was strangled by the sight before her and the world stopped. There was a constant symphony inside Eleanor Holstien's heart, and the conductor, it seemed, had muted the orchestra for the pianist to play his sad tune for the boy in the hospital bed.

Pietro's hair grew wild like a forest dusted with the final winters snow - light and pure. Facial hair was untrimmed, and his face was pale and thin. IV's administering glucose and other drugs remained under his skin like serpents.

The oxygen mask and the tube running into his nose hid his face, but Eleanor could see how young he was. He was not much younger than she, and yet there he was, comatose.

"Dr. Holstein?" The doctor, who's name tag read 'Alma Ghazi', said, snapping her fingers before her face.

Noting Eleanor's redirection of attention back to her, Dr. Ghazi continued. "Signs show his body has recovered to a point where he is waking up. In the past week we have seen rapid eye movement and a regulation of pupil dilation, as well as twitching in his left hand. Brain scans reveal no immediate damage, and his tissue has reformed surprisingly well over the last few months. The scarring is significant, but he has taken well to the skin grafts offered."

Eleanor looked back to the patient, catching the sudden movement of the fingers on his left hand. "So his motor skills may recover fully?"

"He may recover fully in all aspects. The patient is, as Mr Stark has said, 'enhanced'-"

"Enhanced?" Eleanor interjected, "by vot means?"

"We haven't been given the details. That's level 6 clearance. But we do know he has an increased metabolism and improved homeostasis, which we believe has had a part in the speed at which he has recovered and how well he has done in doing so," Dr. Ghazi explained, following the doctors gaze to the boy and standing to attention at her side.

"Alrighty zen," Eleanor said with understanding, "how many do I have on duty tonight?"

"Four, mostly nurses. The nightshift is just a precaution. No one really expects him to wake up just yet -"

"And yet here I am, called in from important work in Germany to help rehabilitate a patient that hasn't even avoken," Eleanor interrupted, her voice sharp as he turned on her heals, striding across the room with Alma in foot. "If zey didn't think he vould vake up, zey vouldn't have called me, and I vouldn't have to spend my nights in this room, unt spend the days next to my phone in case of emergency."

Alma stuttered, her tongue tied up in the millions of rebuttals that were ill-fitting to say in protest of Eleanor's statement. The girl grew tense, but the teasing grin that spread across Eleanor's face chased the tension away. "Go home, Doctor, I think I can handle babysitting a sleeping boy," she said with a kind voice, and Alma nodded in thanks and dismissed herself.

"Thank you, I'll be here to relieve you in the morning. Goodnight, Dr Holstein," Alma Ghazi said politely, handing back the clipboard of information before slipping away to the comfort of quitting time.

Doctor Holstein returned to the bedside of her patient, switching from browsing over the information in hand and looking at the white haired boy. "Punctured lung, shattered bones, Gastrointestinal perforation..." The more she read the sooner felt her dinner would crawl out of her stomach in protest, "you have sure had one heck of a battle..." She found herself whisper to her unresponsive patient from the foot of the bed.

She pulled a torch from her breast pocket and moved to his bedside, leaning over him and gently opening his left eye, and shining the torch upon his icy blue iris. "Pupil dilation is normal, so intracranial pressure has disappeared-"

"Are you talking to yourself of him?" A voice asked from behind her.

Dr. Holstein jumped, nearly dropping her torch. She turned to address the other, brows furrowed with disapproval. "Both," she replied simply as she looked at the man dressing in scrubs, the Stark Logo sewn to his breast pocket.

Wrinkles formed around his brown eyes as he smiled, revealing straight teeth beneath thin lips. His pointed nose reminded her of a bird - and he tilted his balding head to the side as he spoke. "He can't hear you. I mean, you know that right? He's comatose."

Eleanor turned back to Pietro, finishing the quick examination she was performing in reference to the notes she'd been given. A playful tone entered her voice. "At zis stage, he might be able to. My superior believes he could wake up vithin the next veek or so, so perhaps a little conversation will do him good, even if he can't reply."

"You believe that?" The man asked seriously. Doubt radiated off him like the stench of disease.

"You don't?" She said, taking on his tone as she turned back to him.

"You haven't been here since the beginning. If this boy wakes up, then God himself has chosen him as a favourite," the man replied, the light caught in his glasses as he pushed them up his nose.

"Vell, I have to trust that they vouldn't call me without good reason," Eleanor ensured, shaken by the lack of faith the others had for Pietro.

"We hope," the man added, and Eleanor heard the shift of polyester fabric against itself as he shrugged. "Anyway, I came to say that the other nurses and I are sitting in the visitors area over there and deciding the sleeping schedule, and would appreciate your input. We usually have one person awake so the others can sleep," he explained.

"Okay, I'll be over in a moment," Eleanor said, not bothering to look at the man in scrubs.

"We are also making coffee, so I thought I should at least offer?"

"Strong, black, three sugars," she replied, thankful for the kind offer.

"Got it," he said obediently. His footsteps were quite upon the ground as he walked across the room, leaving her to finish her overlook.

Once the sound of his shoes upon the floor, Eleanor sighed and allowed herself to sit upon the very edge of the bed. She watched the rise and fall of Pietro's chest, and the occasional twitch of his fingers. A weight fell upon her shoulder, dragging the smile from her face. "Everyone has lost faith in you, haven't zey?" She asked the unresponsive boy before her, "But don't vorry, I'll get you back on your feet, Pietro, you just have to wake up, ya?" she bartered, gently, and reassuringly, patting his forearm.

* * *

The sun peaked over the horizon and the yellow light of the new day shone through the window, reflecting off the hairless scalp of the male nurse, Damian. The night had been long, but Damian kept her mug full of piping hot coffee.

Eleanor had adopted the armchair next to the window, curled around the warm mug in her hand as she listened to the growing happiness in the voices of the nurses around her as the time to go home edged closer.

"-all I'm saying, is that the night shift wouldn't be so bad if we were allowed music!" One of the younger nurses, Abigail, bartered.

"And I guess you think that a rave party with a coma patient would be appropriate?" Damian said sarcastically, taking a sip from his cup.

"No! But some tunes would make the time go faster," Abigail replied with a giggle. Abigail's laugh was warm like the sunshine on Eleanor's back.

"Don't you guys vorry, once Pietro vakes up, the night shifts von't be so dull," Eleanor added reassuringly, "ve'll actually have something to do zen."

Sarcasm was her reply, and glances were shared between the nurses. The ice in their manner caused Eleanor's eyebrows to furrow. "You people really have no hope, do you?" She asked, tension in her tone.

Abigail shrugged, avoiding eye contact as she 'drank' from her empty cup to avoid having to reply. Eleanor shifted her attention to Damien, her expression stern, silently demanding an answer.

"Look, Eleanor, Stark basically gave us Frankenstein and told us to fix him. We dealt with days without sleep and surgeries beyond count. That boy, God or not, should have been allowed to die. Lord help him if he wakes up, and Lord help us!" He exclaimed, raising his coffee into the air. A chorus of amens streamed from his fellow nurses.

As Eleanor opened her mouth to protest, a knock broke through the room. "Morning!" A cheerful voice called, poking her head into the room.

"Morning, Alma!" Damien greeted. The smell of freshly ground coffee floated on the air surrounding Dr. Ghazi as she walked towards the group, her black flats scuffing on the ground and the yellow blouse and orange hijab she wore brightening the mood of the room like the sunrise. Eleanor shifted in her seat, moving into a position that would be respectable - straightening her posture.

"Anything exciting happen overnight? She asked, bursting into laughter before an answer could be given.

Abigail noted the time from the silver watch on her wrist. "You're here early, it's not even six yet?" She asked as Alma perched on the arm of the couch.

"I wanted to check in on you guys before you rushed home." She placed her leather handbag on the floor, crossed her legs and rested the steaming travel mug on her knee as she spoke. "How was your first night, Dr. Holstein? These lot didn't bore you to death did they?" Alma teased, nudging Abigail in the side as she laughed.

"What are you talking about? We're the best nurses on this team and you know it!" Damian bantered. His laughter emanated from his gut, and was as infectious as a catchy song. Eleanor let out a titter.

"I know, I know," Alma reassured, her tone light and carefree, "but you are an acquired taste, and don't try to deny it."

"If I can learn to love dark chocolate, zan I'm sure I'll love you all eventually," Eleanor said, sharing a side glance with Damian as the room erupted with laughter.

"Shhh," Alma said as she rose, her voice cutting through the noise like a knife, "you'll wake Pietro!"

Laughter swallowed any chance of interjecting, and even Eleanor found herself giggling.

As quiet slowly reclaimed the room, Eleanor shed her white coat and rose to her feet. She strode to the hook on the wall, placed it upon its place, and gathered her bag. "Do you care if I check out a few minutes early? I vant to get home before the sun's fully up so I can try to get to sleep before it's too bright," Eleanor said, standing at the outskirts of the group.

"Go ahead-" Alma began, before a voice spoke over hers as two rushed to answer the same question.

"We were going to ask you to breakfast, actually, Eleanor," Abigail said, gesturing to Damian as he sat on the edge of his seat.

"We know the nicest little café, and since you haven't spent much time in New York, we thought we'd treat you," Damian added, his voice full of hope as he laid out their offer.

"Tomorrow maybe? I'm exhausted."

"Fine, we'll get Nora to make fresh bread for you," Abigail said with a giggle.

"No, that's von't be ness-"

"She's kidding. Nora makes fresh bread every day."

"I love fresh bread, perhaps I'll join you all," Alma said, fidgeting with excitement.

"Yes! Join us!" Damien exclaimed, and Eleanor was humbled by his excitement.

"I shall, I have the afternoon shift tomorrow anyway," Alma said with a smile.

"Vell, I best be going." Eleanor excused herself quietly, not wanting to take from their happiness with her departure.

A chorus of goodbyes followed her, even as she closed the door behind her.

* * *

Eleanor's hotel room welcomed her with a warm embrace. She set her keys down amongst the clutter - the pages upon pages of notes on Pietro Maximoff - and bypassed her bed to the bathroom.

She caught her own reflection, and stared into the eyes of a disheveled - and apparently mad - doctor. Whisks of her blonde hair had broken free of her ponytail and covered her like spun sugar. Eleanor's eyes were puffy and surrounded by the darkness sleep deprivation left on ones skin. She, truly, looked the part of the mad doctor.

Her insanity lay in her hope - a hope no others seemed to share. Did the other nurses lack dedication? Was that the reason for their poor spirit? Of course not. They were tired, and overworked, and...

Eleanor turn on the hot water and slipped out of her clothes. Steam filled the room, and the water scorched her skin and washed away the ache in her bones. Though the night had been one free of labor, it had left her fatigued, and the music in her heart was without rhythm - the notes were scattered like her thoughts.

Couldn't she be the hope for Pietro? Her arrival meant good news for the boy, but for the other nurses, and Dr. Ghazi, she was just another recruit to their doomed crusade. If the boy - if Pietro - were to die, Eleanor was convinced no one in the hospital would care but she, and even then, she had no right to care. She'd never even spoken to him.

Soft scented soap washed away the thought of death, and replaced it with wildflowers and a yearning for her bed.

Eleanor stumbled from the shower as her body began to doze, and she barely managed to dress herself before collapsing into her sheets.

* * *

 _Eleanor awoke in the comfort of the leather armchair, and the smell of sanitiser filled her nose. She heard a rasp for air, and launched into action. Her white coat fluttered at her thighs like a cape as she raced to the curtains from behind which someone was struggling to breath._

 _It was as if she had been placed on the wrong side of the viewing glass. Her colleagues stood like statues and watched calmly as Pietro choked on the tube in his nose. Though it came to her as a mumble, Eleanor could hear him pleading for someone to remove it._

 _She struggled to get closer, and with every step, the distance between her and her patient only grew._

 _"Help him!" She begged, unable to reach his aid._

 _Damian turned to her with a menacing smile. "Why? He was meant to die anyway."_

Eleanor found herself struggling in a tangle of sheets as she roused. The sun protruded through the curtains and bathed her in light as she settled herself into reality.

She combed her fingers through her mane, the feeling of her hair against her fingers solidifying her presence in the world.

Never had Eleanor thought that a persons lack of faith could disturb her so profoundly, and yet, the nurses unwillingness to even put on a facade of positivity shrouded her in self doubt. Perhaps she was the only one willing to try and help Pietro, and if so, could she really help him? Could a one-man-band live up to the same standards as an orchestra?

Doom could only follow a boy who had no hope, and if Eleanor had to be last light in his world of darkness, she would shine brighter than any to guide him through. She had to.

Coffee chased away the reek of sanitiser that hung in the air. Stark Tower's hospital had an especially strong smell. The extra funding provided by their benefactor allowed a higher level of cleanliness, and by the stench that left the inside of her nose cleaner with each breath, Eleanor could only assume that the wealth of Tony Stark was used to bathe the walls in antibacterial - how else was the ungodly whiteness achieved?

She clung to her mug as she entered 24b and settled into her work attire.

It was early, only 5:30, and none of her night crew had arrived yet.

The nurses and doctors that scurried around her were unfamiliar, and nods of the head were offered in respect, but they were as busy as ants as they rushed to finish their tasks and return to their homes.

Eleanor walked calmly through the chaos, sipping her coffee and allowing the caffeine to seep into her bones.

She approached the steady beep on the other side of the room and the patients who's heartbeat it mimicked.

As she stepped closer, she heard the faint voice of a woman singing. She recognised the Russian lullaby, and approached cautiously, unsure of the dark haired stranger occupying the seat next to Pietro.

"lyuli, lyuli, stayala, lyuli, lyuli, stayala-" the brunette continued, unaware of Eleanor's presence, or the eyes that watched her intently.

"Hello," Eleanor said softly, and the young woman jumped with surprise, her song cut short. "Sorry, I did not mean to frighten you."

The girls eyes faded from a red glow as they narrowed at Eleanor. She remained silent, returning her gaze to the white haired boy in the bed before her. Pietro's hand twitched in the grasp of her own, and she brushed her thumb over his suddenly idle fingers.

"Are you family of Pietro's?" Eleanor asked, standing to attention at her edge of the bed, counting the beeps of the heart monitor as silence lingered. "Yes? No?" Eleanor pushed, watching the girl curiously.

The young woman shuffled in her seat, running her thumb over Pietro's knuckles as his fingers became momentarily mobile.

"I'm his sister," she replied, Russian accent thick in her voice.

Eleanor did not know why the accent shocked her. The girl had been singing a Russian lullaby just moments before, but to hear a non-American voice was such a rare thing, Eleanor had not even considered the possibility of the girl being as foreign to the country as she was.

"You must be Vanda? I read in Pietro's file that he had a twin sister."

Wanda looked Eleanor up and down, her lips pouting in disapproval. "You must be the new doctor," she stated, yet to meet Eleanor's gaze.

"Yas, doctor Eleanor Holstien. I'll be in charge of your brothers rehabilitation," Eleanor replied, her chest puffing up with pride.

Wanda nodded. The brunettes upset had been apparent since Eleanor first addressed her. As she spoke she could have sworn she heard a strain in the girls voice, and a redness around her eyes that wasn't from the glow of her iris'. Had she been crying?

"Hopefully you won't have to do your job then, doctor," Wanda said with an icy tone.

"Pardon?" Eleanor replied with confusion.

"Listen, Doctor Holstien," Wanda began, her lack of emotion feeding the growing concern in the back of Eleanor's mind, "I don't know if they told you, but my brother is never. waking. up."

"Zat- Zat is not true..." Eleanor argued, "You're brother shows much potential of awakening-"

"And if that happens, and you find that he cannot walk or fight or is in any way disabled-" The sound that broke into her sentence was no doubt a choke back at a sob. Eleanor's brow furrowed at the words flowed from the Russian's mouth. "-like everyone says he will be, then he would be better off dead."

Eleanor's mouth hung agape, and she struggled to find words of comfort or in defence. "He's your brother..."

"Yes, and I know my brother. Pietro couldn't live in a wheelchair, Doctor."

Eleanor's heart broke as she added another person - a family member - to the list of people who had lost confidence in Pietro's recovery. "Your brother is strong -"

"Don't you think I know that? But no matter how strong he is, no matter how fast, he can't beat death," she snapped, her ferocity fading as she drew her knees to her chest and lowered her head. "There are side affects, and I don't want to lose my brother to them."

"Vanda," Eleanor began, stepping closer as she heard her blubbering, "I vill do everything in my power to make sure your brother gets back on his feet, but you must remain positive."

"Oh, I'll remain positive," Wanda said, her voice veiled with malice, "but of he is disabled, you have to promise me something?"

Eleanor nodded unsurely, nervous for the words to come.

"You have to let him die. Don't let my brother live in a wheelchair, when he should have died a hero."

 **(a/n) hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I hope to get the next one up by this time next week. :)**


	2. Note from author

**(a/n) I'm sorry to say that this story was accidentally deleted from my iphone notes where I was writing it, which means all of my progress - the plotted storyline and the nearly completed chapter 2 - have all been lost. In an attempt to fix this I have made a mess of my phone. So, unless I am able to come up with a bit of money to pay for a recovery app, I'm afraid this story might be lost forever.**

 **I apologise to anyone who was actually enjoying the story, and thank you for all your kind reviews and to those who followed and favourited, but right now I'm too sad to muster any motivation to re-do all of the work from the saved chapter 1. Again, I am very very sorry.**


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